For purely
psychological reasons then--as a kind of human document in criticism,
shall we say?--such a list comes to have its value; nor can the value
be anything but enhanced by the obvious fact that in this particular
company there are several quite prominent and popular writers, both
ancient and modern, signalized, as it were, if not penalized, by their
surprising absence. The niches of such venerated names do not exactly
call aloud for occupancy, for they are emphatically filled by less
popular figures; but they manifest a sufficient sense of incongruity
to give the reader's critical conscience the sort of jolt that is so
salutary a mental stimulus. A further value might be discovered for
our exclusive catalogue, in the interest of noting--and this interest
might well appeal to those who would themselves have selected quite a
different list--the curious way certain books and writers have of
hanging inevitably together, and necessarily implying one another.
Thus it appears that the type of mind--it would be presumptuous to
call it the best type of mind--which prefers Euripides to Sophocles,
and Heine to Schiller, prefers also Emily Bronte to Charlotte Bronte,
and Oliver Onions to Compton Mackenzie.
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